Unknown
by Catherine Grissom
Summary: First HP fic... You can make your own summary. R&R PLEASE?


Title: Unknown  
  
Author: Catherine Grissom  
  
Summary: Errr... Well, I'll let you make your own.  
  
Disclaimer: *Rolls eyes* Yes, they're mine. All mine. J. K. Rowling is my alter ego. Pathetic Lawyers.  
  
FeedBack: Please. My muse is attention starved, please feed her.  
  
Author's Note: This is my first HP fic and DEFINITELY my first Snape-Fic, so please be gentle in your reviews. CONSTRUCTIVE criticism is welcome.  
  
Severus Snape was tired. Not just "Oh I think I need a nap" tired. He was beyond that. He was tired of living. Tired of his double life. Some days he wished that Voldemort would discover his spying and just kill him. Usually those were the days when he remembered her. Or at least how she had been before. He dared not think it. She was gone. She was never coming back. He would never hold her, never kiss her, never touch her again. And he would never be the same. He had opened up around her, sullen life forgotten, he had dared to love her, and in the end he couldn't save her. That was when he lost the will to live. She had died. She had died and he had never been the same. He had become more withdrawn, and he'd begun to blame himself for everything. Anytime 'the Dark Lord' killed anyone, his mind ran through a thousand different scenarios, each of them ending with them alive. If he had only done this, if he'd only said that. He wondered why he ever thought that joining the ranks of the Death Eaters had been a good idea.  
  
He let out a snort. He knew the answer. Her. Everything came back to her. His hatred of the Potter boy? Her fault. His guilt over not being able to repay his debt to Potter's father? Her fault again. Her with her almond- shaped green eyes. Her with her silken hair. Her with her satin-smooth skin. Her with her honeyed voice. Her, her, her. Snape reached up to cover his face in shame and found it wet, tears already making their way down his cheeks. He wiped them away, suddenly furious. He didn't cry! He was a Snape, goddamnit! He got up from his burgundy couch and walked to the mirror.  
  
"Finite incantatem," he murmured, wand pointed at his face. As the many glamours melted away he saw a different man. The hair was not greasy and shone like ebony, the nose was straight, teeth straight and pearly white, oh but the eyes. It was the eyes he couldn't stand. They were jet green. They were the reason he had fashioned this sinister countenance. They were the reason he couldn't stand to see his reflection. But as much as he wished, he would never be rid of them; whenever the spells wore off he would have to look at them in the mirror. He would have to wake up and see them in the morning, looking back at him from the silver glass, taunting him with what he had once had and would never possess again.  
  
He threw his fist into the accursed glass and relished the pain it brought, shards of sweet agony cutting into his hand. He let it bleed for a while, watching the porcelain skin turn crimson, then he muttered a quick healing spell, restored the various masks, then and only then did he whisper a harsh "Reparo." He stalked away from it and began his nightly patrol. He strode out of his quarters and into the hall, then he transformed. Soon a lithe black wolf with one black eye and one brilliant green eye stood where he had been. Neither the wolf nor the man noticed the pair of hazel eyes watching closely from behind the statue of George the Dragon Slayer.  
  
Hermione Granger had been returning from her own patrol of the labyrinthine corridors of the school and was making a last minute check of the dungeons when she had heard the picture swing open. She had ducked behind the statue just as Snape had emerged, curious as to how in Merlin's name the man was able to move so quietly with such bulky robes, she had watched. When the picture swung closed, and he seemed assured that there was no one about, she watched him change. She almost gasped at the sight of the handsome creature that now stood where the Potions Master had been. 'So that's how the Great Bat does it.' She mused. 'If he were as handsome as his animagus form more people might be inclined to like him.'  
  
She wondered if that might have been a look of painful remembrance she had seen flit across his face before the transformation but quickly filed that away in the 'Doesn't Need To Be Thought About' portion of her mind as the wolf glided past her. She decided to leave him be. No need to interrupt his favorite pastime. She had more important things to deal with.  
  
The Granger girl. She was around here somewhere. He could smell her. He wouldn't bother her, as Head Girl it was her priority to patrol the hallways. He just did it for fun. That and as a distraction.  
  
Contrary to popular belief he had never disliked the girl at all; she had a brilliant mind and was one of the best Potions students he had ever taught. She would make a good replacement when he was gone. No, he wouldn't do that. The poor girl had enough on her plate at the moment. What with trying to organize the funerals of her parents and that of Justin Finch-Fletchey.  
  
He allowed himself a moment's thought. Fletchey had become depressed after the death of his family, not only his parents but his older brother and two younger sisters as well, so much so that he had not even fought when they had come for him. He'd merely stood there. A few Cruciatus and an Imperius later he was no more. He'd not made a sound, not uttered a word.  
  
The death of a fellow student and friend had hit the Head Girl hard. Not long afterwards she had received the dreaded black Ministry envelope tied with a black and gold ribbon. She'd run out of the Great Hall that morning and hadn't come back to a meal until only this morning. She'd been considerably thinner and paler, but she'd never slipped up in his class, giving him no reason to inquire about her state of being. He actually wished she would, not that it would affect her grade at all; she already had so much extra credit it would last her through a month of zeroes. He wanted to know how she was holding up and reports from Draco were not very informative. Draco had been ready to join Voldemort's ranks until he'd seen what went on at the Revels. After that he'd been so disgusted he'd left his father's mansion to live with his mother on the school grounds, where she'd come after Lucius had become abusive.  
  
After that Draco had become more agreeable, joining his Godfather in protecting the Muggle-borns and Half-bloods at the school. He still kept up his 'snobby little rich boy' act so as not to raise suspicions but when he'd become Head Boy he'd had no choice but to explain to Hermione what was going on. Since then the two had become friends.  
  
Wolf Snape angled his head and sniffed. Mrs. Norris, Filch's cat, was nearby. Exactly what he needed. He would terrorize the blasted feline then head to bed. He ducked behind a corner.  
  
3. 2. 1. He leapt out from his hiding spot and snarled, creating a very fearsome image indeed. Mrs. Norris seemed to agree and took off like a shot towards the other end of the hall. Snape prepared to chase her; that damned cat had ruined many an evening during his school days and, by Merlin, he was going to get even.  
  
"Severus!" Snape growled in frustration. Just like Minerva to ruin his fun. He turned to face her and put on his most innocent face, even adding a pathetic whimper that she was sure to smile or at least smirk at. "Don't. I know you hate her but you are a teacher and will act as such."  
  
He angled his head and dropped one ear, holding the other up in a gesture that was both cute and entirely likely to ruin his reputation should she tell anyone. 'Please?' he seemed to beg.  
  
"Do you want me to get Albus?"  
  
He lowered the other ear also, put his tail between his legs, and began to mope off down the hall. 'Spoilsport.' He flicked his tail to emphasize that thought. Halfway down the hall, Snape turned around to check if Minerva was still there. She was.  
  
"Go on! Get on with you!" she snapped. Snape turned back and put his head close to the floor and resumed walking. All of the commotion had apparently alerted the Head Girl as she now came running around the corner, barely skidding to a stop before she hit Snape's snout. He growled at her and she jumped back.  
  
"Oh!" she exclaimed. Turning to McGonagall she simply said, "Professor?"  
  
McGonagall turned her attention to Snape. "Heel!" she barked. Severus simply snorted and continued past Hermione.  
  
"What a pretty wolf," Hermione's voice was saccharine sweet.  
  
Snape flicked an ear.  
  
"Too bad he's such a pest," McGonagall added.  
  
Snape straightened his tail behind him.  
  
"I suggest that we name him," Hermione's voice was sounding sneakier by the second. He was going to have to restrict her talking with Draco.  
  
"What do you suggest?"  
  
Snape paused, worried.  
  
"Oh I don't know. He acts rather like Professor Snape."  
  
Snape began to turn.  
  
"He does, doesn't he?"  
  
Snape prepared to snarl.  
  
"Well, how about Sev?"  
  
Snape snorted.  
  
"Hmmm. Sevvie?"  
  
Snape stared, annoyed.  
  
"Sevviekins?"  
  
Snape gave a warning growl. Neither of the women listened.  
  
"I like that."  
  
"Ooh! No I've got it," Hermione's smile was devilish.  
  
Snape waited for it with bated breath. Previous comment was sarcastic of course.  
  
"Snapie-poo!" Hermione exclaimed.  
  
Snape forgot everything about intimidation and let out a plaintive howl.  
  
"Oh look. He likes it," McGonagall was going to find a dead cat or squirrel or something in her bed, and soon!  
  
Snape bolted down the corridor. Not stopping until he was outside his quarters where he quickly transformed and growled "Open the flucking door!" The portrait swung open and he leapt inside. Once inside he turned and glared at the portrait so intently that it slammed shut out of sheer terror.  
  
"Women!" he nearly screamed. "Sev? Forgivable. Sevvie? Annoying. Sevviekins? Unbearable. But Snapie-poo?! No more merciful extra credit for Miss Granger! No more semi-cordial greetings to Minerva! AND I'm going to call off Christmas!" he didn't actually know how he would pull this off but, Merlin's beard, he was going to try!  
  
Unbeknownst to him, outside of the portrait, two very happy witches were trying to stifle giggles.  
  
"And that'll be enough out of you two! Go find someone else to pester."  
  
At least they had thought he didn't know they were there.  
  
"Fine." Minerva started.  
  
"Snapie-poo." Hermione finished, then they were off down the hall giggling madly as they went.  
  
"If either of those blasted women tells anyone." he muttered, but he couldn't finish the thought. Lily had called him 'Sev'. Lily had called him 'Sevviekins' to annoy him, and it had worked. But not even Lily had ever dared to call him 'Snapie-poo' 


End file.
